


The Party Don't Start Till I Walk In

by Anonymous



Category: Pop Music - Fandom, Rise of the Guardians (2012), The Bible, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Multi, Romance, Sexual Themes, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kozmotis Pitchiner is a hardworking businessman. He has the beautiful house, the awesome car, the perfect job... but there's something missing. He's lonely. When his boss invites him on a vacation to the Island, believing he'll have a date to bring along, he agrees, and ropes an ex-fling into pretending to be his long-term boyfriend... With the help of his friends, he may just find love... but what's this? His ex is here? Pitch is not in for an easy vacation!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Beautiful Lifestyle Does Not Fill the Hole In My Achey Breaky Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyone/gifts).



  
Kozmotis Pitchiner sighed, loosening his tie. He'd just finished a long day at T&L Bros. Co. Inc., and he was looking forward to a hot shower. He beelined for the en-suite bathroom upstairs, curling up the long spiral staircase and down the exquisite hallway into his lavish bedroom. The atmosphere of expensive floors and having wallpaper never failed to keep his moodlet from dropping. He brushed his gaze over the paintings on his wall - original Bach, Monet, and Versace works stared back at him from ornate gold frames, screaming of money and fine taste.

  
He slipped off his clothes and slid into the steamy stream of hot water, running his large hands over his naked body. He washed his dark hair with soap, feeling his muscles relax as the suds descended his legs and pooled into the drain. Music played from his bathroom speaker: a refined classical song on the violin, to help ease his tension. The strobe lights in the shower head turned the stream from blue to royal purple to carmine to azureish white to boston university red.

  
When he was clean, he inserted a fluffy black bath robe with a curling golden 'P' engraved on the breast pocket around his shoulders and walked into his large kitchen. The faucets gleamed silver and the cabinets were all extinct wood.

  
Pitch had always been a very skilled chef, able to boil the water for spaghetti and expertly remove the lids from jars of tomato sauce without even asking for help. His chiseled arms strained as he lifted the pot from the bottom cupboard, his taut calves rippling.

  
He ate his dinner alone at the end of a long, elegant formal dining table. The room was quietly opressive, the empty chairs reminding him how single he was. He took a bite of his pasta, his liquid warm yellow eyes which were speckled with sparkling gold half lidded.

  
He had spent the better part of his life over achieving. Striving for the best grades, the best job, the promotion, the paycheck... he had sacrificed a social life for one of wealth and power. He craved a relationship.

  
What was worse, his boss, Brtiney Spears, had recently invited him on a trip to Beach Island, and insisted that he bring the boyfriend he'd always claimed to have in order to get out of her special 'matchmaking dinners.' The past years of lying about having a long-term partner were really biting him in his pert ass now...

  
And it made him feel lonlier than ever.

  
"Hey, Pitch... I'm organising a little getaway with my fav worker bees and hot bitches this weekend. We'll probably be there for, like, months, so obvs you're invited. Why don't you bring your man and we'll all pop our cherries to David Guetta's new single while we snort champagne?" Britney had asked, sitting atop Pitch's desk and inhaling a bottle of gin.

  
"Of course." He had said, "That sounds delightful. I would be honoured to join you, Mademoiselle Spears." He had never been able to resist her charming smile or her offers of illicit drugs. He had the smack she'd gifted him with on his birthday still sitting in a place of honour on top of the flat screen television in his entertainment room.

  
He slept fitfully that night, struggling with who to invite, devastated that he'd lied to his boss, when a face suddenly bloomed into his mind's eye: Barack Obama, the bad boy drag racer he'd done a few sexual favours for in high school. Obama owed him. He jumped out of his covers, sending his blankets soaring to the ground and clambered for his cell phone with his numble, long, bony fingers.

  
When Obama picked up, Pitch could hear the sounds of a party in the background.

  
"Obama." Pitch gasped into the phone. "I need to cash in that favour."

  
~*~*~*~*~*~*`**~*~

  
Obama crashed into the couch in the VIP room of his favourite club. The feel of leather on his thighs reminded him of the feel of the driver's seat in his car, and he let out an appreciative hum and crossed his legs. He was wearing a suit jacket over his Durex sponsored t-shirt and a pair of delicious short shorts, under which he'd strapped his large Constitution mandated gun.

  
"Waiter, a vodka, please." He demanded silkily, snapping his fingers. "Make my night."

  
The waiter nodded and left the room. Three girls were sitting on Obama, their legs tangling in his own limbs, mouthing at the baby hairs on his neck. He stared indifferntly at the door, sunglasses hiding his deep double chocolate mocha, no whip, shot of espresso eyes. When the waiter returned, he had a carton of vodka.

  
"Finally." Snapped Obama, making the waiter flinch.

  
"I apologise for the wait, sir."

  
"Do you know who I am?" Demanded the race car driver, shaking his head in disgust. The girls began to hiss and growl in anger.

  
"Of course, sir. Of course."

  
"Good. Service better speed up. Barack Obama waits for no one."

  
The waiter stepped out, leaving Obama with his entourage and the girls who were sitting on him - one clambered onto his shoulder and began to groom his hair with her manicured nails. Obama ripped the straw affixed to his vodka from its plastic casing and penetrated the box, sipping at his alcohol sexily.

  
His scalp felt divine from the girl's ministrations, but he had a secret he could never reveal. He lusted for only one person - his old high school fuckfriend, Kozmotis Pitchiner. That boy had been ambitious, tall, dark, and militaristic in a way no one else could ever be. Pitch acted calm and collected, but Obama had once seen him embibe a quart of heroin at a party and really let loose - it was a sight he wasn't soon to forget. Not to mention, Kozmotis gave him a whole fuckload of head.

  
Suddenly, while Obama was stuck in his reverie, his gold crusted cell phone rang. "Kozmotis..." He mumbled, seeing the caller ID. "He hasn't called me since..." He heaved a sigh, then picked up the phone.

  
"Obama. I need to cash in that favour."

  
Obama smirked. "Anything for you, baby."


	2. I've Been Doing A Lot of Drugs Today But Your Love Is the Drug I Prefer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obama and Pitch's chemistry is undeniable, and Jesus meets the man of his dreams... will their romance blossom, or will they be left high and dry?

  
Pitch walked into the ariport, Obama at his side. Obama slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing his handsome face to all who looked on as Pitch stalked attractively at this side, their clothes billowing in the light Hollywood air. Silk and cotton blend danced seductively together, the two men's coats brushing like old lovers.

  
Britney shook her long hair out as she turned to face them, moaning as she flipped it over her shoulder. "Pitch!" She called, "Your man is gorgeous."

  
Obama smiled. "Indeed I am." He said cockily.

  
Many people had turned to watch the display of hot people as they moved towards Britney's private jet. "We'll be alone in here..." She was saying as they ascended the ramp. However, when they entered the plane, they were greeted with a sight Pitch was relieved and happy to see.

  
"Hey, bros." Greeted Jesus from where he was leaning against a goose feather pillow, smoke billowing around his head.

  
"Jesus Christ. I had no idea you were joining us on this trip."

  
Jesus shrugged, taking a drag from his meth. The plane smelt thickly of fruit and perfume. "I never turn down a chance to vaycay with my girl Brit-ney." He explained.

  
Britney smiled and sat with him, asking silently for the cigarette with an outstretched hand, and they passed it between each other as Obama and Pitch sat opposite them.

  
Jesus knew Pitch was actually single. He gave Obama an appraising look, one eyebrow crooked. His perfect brown beard was decorated with body glitter and his Hawaiian shirt was bedazzled with turquoise gemstones. Pitch imagined Jesus must be wondering what Obama was doing posing as his life partner, but he also knew Jesus would play along - he was a bro like that.

  
Britney put on some music as the plane began to take off, offering everyone on board a line of marijuana. "Let's party!" She declared, and everyone clinked their wine glasses together before downing the vintage red like cheap shots.

  
"So... Obama, what do you do for a living?"

  
"I'm a famous racecar driver."

  
Britney gave him a drunken look and said "Ohhhhh... yeah, I know you! You're Barack Obama, the winner of the Grand Prix Kentucky Derby Sweepstakes! I have your cologne." She reached into her alligator skin purse and extracted a musky cologne that made Pitch's eyes water - it really did smell like Obama's sweaty pecs after he'd been working out... Pitch had missed that.

  
Jesus gave his friend a worried look and whispered. "You ok, there, Pitch?"

  
"I'm just... reminiscing."

  
Jesus shoved a can of whiskey into his palm and patted him vigorously on the back, running his fingers affectionately over Pitch's expensive suit. "Loosen up. This vacation is going to be the fucking bomb, dude! And I'll always be here for you."

  
"Thanks Jesus."

  
They toucheddown on the Island at noon, and piled off the plane, laughing. Obama had slid his hand into Pitch's, making the businessman stutter on his feet a moment as they made their way down the red carpet to the hotel. Obama, for his part, only offered him a sexy smirk, leaving Pitch with the feeling that he would not last long without falling to his knees in front of him and encapsulating his dick with his vacuum-like, thin, dry, pale lips.

  
The hotel was a beautiful, creamy building with 100000 windows facing the sea. The breeze tasted of salt and liqueur, and the palm trees swayed like tipsy maidens. Britney threw her arms up with excitement.

  
"I hope there are hot babes in there." Said Jesus, who was notorious for sucking off every guy he could and bought hookers every 6 hours at least. Pitch often felt concerned about his inability to commit, worried that his friend felt the same crushing, piercing, all encompassing loneliness as he himself did, but Jesus was a master at hiding his sensitive side. The brunette shook out his shoulder length, wavy, carefree and sexy hair before chasing Britney into the hotel.

  
"We should totes go to the pool." The blonde suggested when Pitch and Obama trailed afterwards, Obama's fingers still vice-like around Pitch's exfoliated hand.

  
"Totes me gotes." Agreed Jesus.

  
They stripped their clothes, Britney revealing a sexy bikini. Her breasts were coated in elegant white fabric, not unlike a Greek tunic, clasped with pure gold and a single, priceless ruby. On her lady bits she had a matching lady-covering-bottom-piece, and on her beautiful ass she had the back of said garment, encrusted with diamonds so fine they were invisible. Jesus was wearing Egyptian cotton board shorts in emerald green, with real emeralds decorating the hems. The strings were actually delicate silver, carved to mimic real string.

  
Pitch dropped his own pants, revealing his tasteful, simple black shorts, which brushed modestly against his knees. The buttons doing them up were diamond, but they were otherwise understated and soft looking.

  
Pitch's jaw dropped when Obama stripped out of his own clothes. Between his sublime buttcheeks rested a dainty, crystal engraved thong. It barely hid his penis.

  
Britney put her hand over her right boob. "Obama, you look incredible." She said. "You must come shopping with me someday! Your taste in swim wear is to die for!"

  
Pitch silently agreed, watching Obama strut to the pool. He wished he was half so comfortable with his sexuality. His chest prickled with jealously when everyone at the pool whistled in unison when Obama entered.

  
They walked together to the pool chairs and lay down, put their sunglasses on and pulling out their cocaine and their sun tan lotion.

  
Britney was watching Obama and Pitch expectantly, and Pitch scrambled to communicate to Obama that he should massage his back, so as not to rouse suspicion. Obama quickly began rubbing Pitch's shoulders, his wonderful palms pushing into Pitch's muscles. Then, Pitch returned the favour, scratching lightly at Obama's shoulder blades. He was sculpted like Adonis.

  
Suddenly, Jesus' mouth dropped liked a Skrillex beat. His sunglasses clattered to the ground... he was looking towards the end of the pool, where a man was walking towards them.

  
The man tossed his beautiful, silky red hair like a fresh salad. He walked like a Victoria's Secret Model on the runway, shifting his hips with practised ease, one foot slapping perfectly in front of the other. His pouty lips were half open, gasping in the ocean air like a beached whale, and his chest gleamed with water and scented oil. He was lithe and steamy, looking about himself at the other hotel guests with a little smirk and a lusty look in his blue eyes.

  
When he passed Jesus, he gracefully twisted his neck to look down at the starstruck man. "I like your beard." He said in a sultry voice. His freckles were highlighted by a very light pink flush, but his skin was otherwise pure and flawless.

  
Jesus swallowed his mouthful of cocaine and cleared his throat, but before he could answer, the man said:

  
"I'm Judas. Judas Iscariot. Room 8467." He winked, and slutted away.  
  



	3. I Gotta Have It... But I'm Crazy In Love With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two stylish Queens invite Pitch and his friends to a party their friend is holding at his house, and one of the guests tests Pitch's resilience... but it also gives Obama a chance to show off his own devotion....

Britney Spears, Jesus Christ, Barack Obama, and Pitch Black, as he was called in matters of business, left the pool after Judas disappeared. Jesus looked distant, and Pitch cast him worried looks as they entered the marble hotel halls. Just then, Britney shrieked.

  
Before them stood two beautiful people. The blonde was wearing a floor length green dress and holding a cat in their hands. 2000$ in cash was hanging from the slit of cleavage unveiled by a lacey black bra, complimenting the outfit. The cat flopped lazily, its gem crusted collar weighing down its neck. The other was a woman in a red cocktail dress, gripping the leash of an elegant dog, her long black hair blowing in an indoors breeze.

  
"January February March April May June July August September October November December! Z!" Britney cried, running to hug her two friends. "Jesus, Obama, Pitch... these are my friends - January February March April May June July August September October Novermber December, or J for short, Queen of Not America, and Z, Queen of Beach Island."

  
"In our Native tongue, the Island is called 'Noodle.'" Explained Z, stroking the bedazzled cat.

  
The boys all shook the Queens' hands respectfully.

  
"J, Z... why don't you join us in our room?" Britney asked.

  
Both Queens shook their heads similtaneously. "We have a party to go to." They said. "Legolas' father is in Canada. He absorbed Legolas' legs and fucked off, leaving him here. We feel so bad, so we're bringing him tequila. He's, like, unable to dance or have sex right now. Because he has no legs and he's always sobbing." Z lent in, blocking their mouth with their hand as they whispered something to Britney that made the pop star/business boss gasp. She sent Pitch a sympathetic look, which confused him greatly.

  
When the Queens had drifted away, Britney grabbed both of Pitch's chiseled arms and looked at him with sadness in her sparkling, baby blue eyes. "Pitchy... Jack Frost is here. Apparently he's been spotted doing kick flips and sick aerial tricks on the beach... and he's going to Legolas' party tonight."

  
Pitch was shocked to hear that his ex was at Beach Island. "He always turns up where he isn't wanted." He bit out, jerking out of Britney's grasp.

  
"This must be hard for Obama, too." Britney said.

  
Obama gave Pitch a look of confusion.

  
"Yes." Said the tall, dark man. "Since I have slept with Jack 76 times in the past year."

  
Obama cooed sympathetically. "He must be a real hottie, since you can't resist him." He cleared his throat, thinking of what to say next, while Britney watched. He knew she thought he and Pitch had been together these past two years... "I will always forgive you, darling, because I know how he makes you all crazy." His tone was so sincere it made Pitch's tummy quake with happiness. If only he really did have a boyfriend who was so forgiving... if only Obama was really his...

  
Jesus shook all over. "Enough of this talk!" He declared. "We'll go to Legolas' party! We can face this." And he took Pitch by the arm, despite his loud and aggressive protests.

  
~*~*~*~8~8`*~*~*~*

  
They arrived at Legolas' beautiful house at night, large white stars gleaming majestically above them. Pitch was so anxious he was getting a migraine. He knew how he was around Jack... just the thought of seeing him again was too much to handle. Why Jesus always thought seeing him again and 'talking' would fix things, he never knew. Every time, Pitch ended up dragging Jack into the closest private place, whether it was a bathroom, behind a party guest, blocked from view, or in a cupboard, to fuck. Every. Time.

  
"Jesus." He grit out, as Jesus led him into the party.

  
"Hush, Pitch." Christ reassured him, pouring him a shot of beer. "Legolas' parties are always awesome."

  
"You just want to be here because you're a selfish alcoholic."

  
Jesus snorted, downing six beers. "Fuck you, Pitch." He snarked. "You don't get to talk to me like that."

  
"I know, I'm sorry, Jesus. Please forgive me."

  
"I do. I love you, Pitch. You're my best friend. I always have you in my heart. It'll be ok."

  
Pitch smiled, but then he spotted a familiar head of shockingly white hair bobbing in the corner. It was Jack, dancing on a table. His hips were gyrating and wiggling, and he was doing body shots off himself. Pitch shivered. He couldn't resist walking towards him. Jack stopped when he spotted Pitch.

  
"Here to have fun?" He asked.

  
"No. I'm here to support Legolas in his time of need."

  
"Yeah right."

  
Jack leapt the 19 feet from the table to where Pitch was standing, clasping his limbs around him and latching onto him with his mouth, sucking like a horrible gutter leech. Pitch groaned, falling to the floor. He had never been so hot in his life. Jack was incredibly sexy. Suddenly, someone was pulling Jack by the hair and lifting him high into the air, where he struggled nakedly, hissing and spitting.

  
It was Obama.

  
"You... you came for me." Panted Pitch, doing up his fly.

  
"I will always protect you from your own uncontrollable lust for this skinny flying man." Obama declared. Just then, Jack fought to free himself from Obama's grasp and blasted away through the window, disappearing into the night, becoming yet another pale dot among the stars.

  
Pitch wrapped his arms around Obama, and Obama leant in to kiss him, tucking his hands into Pitch's pockets. Their shirts disspated in the heat radiating off their chests. Obama gleamed like a shiny pokemon, his hard abs squeezing and shifting in the light of Legolas' house.

  
When they were finishing having sex, Obama looked deeply into Pitch's eyes, while the room cheered.

  
"I love you." Obama admitted. "I've loved you all this time."

  
"Obviously!" Shouted Britney. "Anyway, Legolas says we have to leave because you got semen on his dad's 'Best Party' trophies, which is, like, a party foul."

  
"How will I ever live up to my father's high expectations and match his excellence if my parties always end with Pitch fucking someone in my living room?" Legolas began to cry from his spot on the couch, where he was sitting, his legs no where in sight.

  
Pitch nodded, and the gang returned to the Hotel. The whole taxi ride over, Pitch kept his hand on Obama's upper thigh, rubbing contentedly, a happy smile on his face. He wasn't single anymore.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Do What You Want With My Body Except Don't Tell Me I Have to Eat Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judas and Jesus finally hook up, but when they find out they have vastly different values when it comes to a subject the is very dear to Jesus' heart - bread - their budding relationship is tested. Can Jesus' friends help him compromise, or will this rift prove too hot to handle for the choosy player?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story now has cover art! Check this first chapter :) Thank you, readers, for supporting this little literary project.

Judas Iscariot was sitting in his chariot, petting his two white horses and sighing to himself. He looked out over the infinite expanse of ocean, then swept his gaze across the pristine white sand of Beach Island. His horses pranced forward into the sunrise with a click of his nifty tongue. The breeze was like an expensive salted dark chocolate, but with crab and seafood and other glamourous foods also there. Judas' wine red hair was a fire across the land, and he charged in laps around the hotel.

  
He looked up at the dark window of his hotel room as he stood in his little chariot box, hands tight on the reins of his Iscariot chariot. He had been waiting there all night for the handsome man from the pool, but he had not shown up. Judas took a whiff of his cocaine and then pulled some special coffee from the pockets of his tight jeans.

  
Suddenly, he saw something on the horizon - a super fast car, gleaming like an oiled up muscle model, driving over the sea. It did a sick spin and wooshed around really fast on the sand in some fancy tricks, and Judas' heart beat like an overdose.

  
When the car pulled to a stop, a beautiful cinnamon spice latte mocha cappuccino man descended from the front seat, wearing a suit that was open at the chest to display his gorgeous chest. Next, a London fog cloudy morning grey man with burnt caramel eyes drifted out of the passenger side to cling onto the driver's arm. But it was the next person to stumble out of the car who really caught Judas' glass-like infinity pool blue eyes.

  
Jesus Christ, struggling to stand in his state of extreme intoxication, wearing a floral shirt with real roses flapping on the lapels, fell from the backseat and pushed himself back up with his naturally toned forearms. A bottle of cough syrup fell from his mouth and rolled to Judas' feet.

  
"You dropped this." Judas said, his eyelids drooping seductressly. He licked the rim because there was still some drugs there, and then he and Jesus embraced each other and made love.

  
"Wow, I can't believe I'm the only one not getting laid right now." Said Britney Spears, because Obama and Pitch also began to have sex on the beach, since Jesus and Judas gave them the idea and they were in love. She sat down and waited for everyone to be done while she drank some weed she was keeping in her purse and then it was breakfast time.

  
"We should all go to a cafe." Suggested Pitch, sensibly.

  
Jesus buried his shirt in the sand so a poor child could find it and wear it, because he was always doing kind things like that - Pitch smiled to see that Jesus had such a big heart. "Judas, do you want to go to the cafe?" He asked politely. Some cough syrup was still on his lips.

  
"I don't eat bread." Said Judas. "It's why I'm so beautiful."

  
"That makes sense." Said Britney Spears. "You can have a water, no whip."

  
Judas nodded hotly.

  
Jesus found it very hot and bothering that Judas was so hot, but he was personally a huge fan of bread and feeling upset. "I eat bread every meal." He snapped. "And I'm still in the 99th percentile of hot men."   
Judas pouted his gorgeous lips. "Maybe you would be in the top 100 percent if you stopped eating so much bread." He said.

  
They were both mad going to the cafe. When they were there, Jesus ordered the bread salad, the omelettte with toast hold the egg, and the french toast. Judas crossed his arms and when the waiter came he ordered a diet water, no whip, and a pile of splenda on a plate. Britney told the waiter to get her a bottle of champagne from France immediately and he booked his flight while she shared an appetizer of grapefruit with Judas. Obama ordered the Presidential Breakfast which was a protein shake and a banana in a bowl. Pitch had black coffee and a designer muffin styled to look like the front cover of Vogue Italia September 2009.

  
When the cheque came, Jesus insisted on paying for the group, pulling a ten thousand dollar bill from his alligator skin wallet. Judas only sat back, filing his nails.

  
They left the cafe and went to sit at a luxurious garden. Judas posed himself on a bench next to the blooming flowers, with one elbow resting on his lovely knee and a cigarette full of ectasy in his fingers. Pitch and Obama were sitting on each other next to Britney and Jesus, who were both admiring Judas, who shifted into another pose while everyone looked on.

  
"He's smoking." Said Britney. "Like, in every sense of the word. It's so chic."

  
She was right. Because Judas was a ginger, his hair had caught fire in the glare of the sun and he had erupted into flames.

  
Jesus sighed. "He is the sluttiest man who is in this garden." He admitted. "But I feel betrayed because he liked different foods than me."

  
Britney nodded sagely. She was chewing on some bath salts, and between crunches she dropped advice on Jesus like a wrecking ball of knowledge. "You need to be more flexible. Like, your standards are too high. You're, like, literally perfect, but not everyone can be that, you know?"

  
"No one else can be." Said Pitch smoothly and affectionately. Jesus was his best friend and he knew no one else could ever be as symmetrical or fit the golden ratio to the gazillionth decimal like he did.  
Britney nodded. "Judas is such a bootylicious catch and you should just let him do him. You can't date yourself." she said sadly.

  
Jesus nodded. "You're right. No matter how hard I try, I could never give myself a blowjob like Judas could. That's all the reason I should need to stay with him."

  
Pitch smiled genuinely. "I'm so glad you're making this breakthrough. I've been worried about you. I want to see you be as happy as I am with Obama."

  
Obama nodded. "Jesus, you may feel like you are just a player who can't do relationships... but when it's worth it, you have to just say 'yes I can!' You have us supporting you and believing in you. Yes, you can commit to one man. Let's do this together." It was obvious Obama was speaking from personal experience, as he wrapped his arms around Pitch.

  
"Awwwwwwww." Commented Britney Spears.

  
When they looked back over at Judas after their little moment, he was laying on the bench with a flower in his hand and his face tilted their way, looking totally fucking smashed.

  
Jesus winked at him. He was going to try committing for at least the rest of the morning, thanks to his friends help. He felt so lucky to have such wonderful pals.   
  



	5. Jesus Lives Like He Was Dying and Drops Hot and Heavy

Jesus Christ, Judas Iscariot, Pitch from Rise of the Guardians (2012), Britney Spearse, and Obama walked into a club. It was called Gucci Politeia.

  
"Hey sup, how many tables?" Asked a glittery man at the front of the house, who was sparkling all over with pink roll-on body glitter.

  
"All the VIP tables." Sassed Judas. "I need them to stash my drugs."

  
"Oh cool. Very good." The glittery man smacked his lips which were zone-chapsticked with all the limited edition soda chapsticks from lip smacker. He smelt like a McDonald's floor. "I'm Barbie Ken and I'm gonna be yer DJ this morning. Here's yer menu and some complimentary champagne. You guys are like the first people here. I have literally never been so impressed by anyone's Initiative to Party before. Literally what the fuck haha. It's like 9 in the morning."

  
The gang sat in a VIP booth behind a purple ribbon. Judas started taking out his array of drugs and drug paraphernalia and tucking them comfortably into seats at the VIP tables. No one else was in the club except a blonde man in a Polk-a-dot suit, who was walking around with a checklist making notes. He sashayed over to them and tapped his pen on his clipboard.

  
"Hello. It's me, the King of the Club."

  
"Hot." Said Paris Hilton, who had been under the table all along.

  
"I know." Agreed the man. "The club is named after me so I can do whatever I want."

  
"Then do it." WInked Judas. Jesus made a face like he hoped Judas would not betray him by poledancing on a stranger again (he had already done it to Barbie Ken on the walk over).

  
"I'm also the fashion police so I have to see some ID." Gasped Gucci Politiea "This is a roadblock. I'm a Leo, by the way, so if I act egotistical, headstrong, loyal, and kind-hearted, that's why."

  
"Omg." Said Judas. "That is so polite that you told us that in advance. I'm a Cancer." He snorted his champagne in one go. "I'm really empathetic."

  
Gucci nodded and jotted it down on his clipboard. "So, what I'm looking for today is that you've all read and understood the latest Victoria's Secret fashion show."

  
Everyone at the table nodded. Britney had already taken her clothes off, showing off the fireworks strapped to her bra. Pitch, Obama, Jesus, and Judas quickly stripped. They always watched fashion shows on their Samsung LNR-R408DX LCD Televisions, after looking up the timeslot in their TV guide, which arrived in the mail.

  
"This all checks out." Ennunciated Gucci. "You guys all get a Total Hyper Skank mark on your fashion licenses. Congrats."

  
"No problem." Agreed Obama. He sensually put his shirt back on.

  
Suddenly the disco ball started to turn.. No one had noticed that Barbie Ken had slithered away, blending into the streamers, to situate himself behind the turntables. "Shotgun." He whispered into the mic. "Shotgun picks the music."

  
"That's our car rule." Said Gucci. "The rule we follow in the car."

  
The club exploded with music that made Judas want to start in on his ectasy. He passed a glass to Jesus with a wink.

  
"I am glad I am commiting to you, because you are flaming hot like a tamale." Admitted Jesus. "I want to show you that I can be the perfect boyfriend by taking all the drugs you do so we are on the same metaphysical plane."

  
"K." Said Judas. He was texting his buddy Roman on his Motorola Razr and not really paying attention, because he wanted to keep Roman totally up to date on all the drama happening in his life, and was trying to come up with a good metaphor for the way Jesus' bod made his pants feel. In his distraction, he didn't remember to tell Jesus that if anyone else tried to take as many drugs as him they would lose before they even got halfway, because he had been working up to his current drug taking ability for years, training to become the perfect drug athlete since he was a child. Judas was a world record setting Olympic drug user - no amateur.

  
Barbie Ken hit the lights, bobbing his head and glimmering like a confused, baby-shower themed bird. His livestrong bracelets all said 'hoe' on them.

  
Pitch had taken Obama's hand under the table, and was scratching it suggestively. He had never felt as ccomfortable as he did now, sitting next to his fake boyfriend turned real boyfriend in the VIP booth of an empty nightclub at 9am in the morning.

  
The stage curtains opened then, dazzling blush pink, to reveal a hideous stripper. He was blonde but not in a hot way, like he probably didn't know the difference between an 8 and an 8.13 in the International Hair Colour Chart. He had totally mismatched his foundation to his skin tone, and hadn't even blended into his neck. Judas instantly broke into tears, and Britney had to accompany him to the bathroom so he could grieve.

  
The stripper waddled onto the stage and did a turn. His undies said 'TRAMP' in big, fake gold letters. Pitch scoffed - his undies were gold plated with 100% authentic gold imported from Switzerland on the backs of models wearing Louboutins.

  
There was a sharp tweet from the sidelines - Gucci had blown the fashion whistle. Barbie Ken had taken his hands off his discs to cover his eyes, so the shuffle had started playing his secret, shameful experimental noise albums.

  
Gucci stepped dangerously onto the stage. His hair was an 8.1. "Stop in the name of the law!" He screeched. "I am feeling particularly hotheaded today! And also kind-hearted enough to shield the patrons of my nightclub from your horrible, un-Vogue underwear!"  
The stripper pouted. "I have the greatest underwear... let me tell you... it is the greatest-"  
Gucci leapt in the air with a flying kick and totally KO'd the fool. He was dead.

  
"Oh thank God!" Called Barbie Ken over the sound of a 20 year old man hitting a pot lid with a piece of black liquorice, which was playing over the speakers. "My Hero!" He jumped through the air and landed on Gucci's shoulders. It was a good look for both of them. Rogue fashion photographers appeared, screaming like banshees, to get the perfect shot.  
Jesus, who was completely smashed, slumped onto the floor.

  
"I think we should go." Said Obama. "The situation here seems to be resolved."

  
"I agree." Agreed Pitch. "The danger has passed, the villain is defeated. And the villain is not, nor has it ever been, me."

  
Obama's lips thinned as he thought about that, but his eyes were smizing because he trusted his boyfriend. Even if he were the most powerful man in the world, he would accept advice from Pitch Black over anyone else.

  
Judas and Britney appeared from the bathroom and lifted Jesus in their arms. "So are you guys looking for new strippers?" Asked Britney, looking dazzed from the opium gummy bears that Judas was feeding her out of the palm of his hand, which she pecked up like a lovebird eating millet.

  
"Since we killed our only stripper, I guess we are." Said Barbie Ken. "I love it when we have a murder in the club!"He pointed at a wall of pictures, over which hung a sparkly banner that said Murder of the Month! and was covered in pink lipstick kisses.

  
"It's like a dark haute couture cover spread in here. I feel super inspired now." Gucci pointed out.

  
Judas clasped his hands together. "That is so chic!" He gushed. Then he saw Gucci and Barbie Ken eyeing Jesus like they were looking for horror-fashion inspiration from him. His heart turned into an icy stone. "No!!!!!!" He cried. "Jesus! It's not time for him to be a killer fashion inspiration yet!!!" He gave him mouth to mouth with his tongue.

  
That was when he heard voice coming from the ass of his jeans, where he kept his cellular phone. Someone in the group chat - a conference call which included all of the hot vacationers on Beach Island - was whinging about something.

  
"What is it?: Snapped Judas bitchily, picking up his phone. "I'm grieving my dead boyfriend right now!"

  
"That's hot." Said Paris Hilton, who was calling from under the table. "But check out the window. There's a new billboard up outside."

  
Sure enough, when the gang turned, their hair catching in the wind machine and their sexy eyes sparkling with smize, they saw a huge billboard. It said 'Putin's nudes totally leaked LOL.' On it was a shirtless Putin, looking like he'd never lifted a weight in his life.

  
"OMG." Gasped Judas. "Putin's photos have all been photoshopped!"

  
Pitch's face went cold. "Oh no." He muttered. "Not him."

  
Obama looked angry. "My highschool cheerleading rival is back at it again, I see." He sighed.

  
Pitch was shocked. Putin was his ex-boyfriend, from back when he was into the comb-over look. It had been a dark time in his life, one which he wanted to keep hidden in shadow from everyone. How could It be that he was also Obama's hated cheerleading opponent and master of the triple extreme flip twerk? It was too much of a coincidence to be by accident...

  
"I smell drama." Whispered Judas, wiggling his nose, a dark glint like a knife in his eye. "Finally!" he dropped Jesus like he had dropped last year's winter coat line in a donation bin on 5th ave. except Jesus landed on the glitter soaked club floor and flopped around like an over-cooked noodle. Judas preferred his pasta el dente because he read in a magazine that it was better for the digestion.


End file.
